


Paying Respects

by somethingclever



Category: Justified
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:37:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingclever/pseuds/somethingclever
Summary: Tim pays his respects to Raylan in two very different sets of circumstances.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was so disappointed that only Winona was there for Raylan when Helen died (and I have Issues with her, so) and I wanted one of the other Marshals to give him some comfort, and thus, this fic was born! Comments are adored.

If it had been Arlo who had died, Tim would have turned off his alarm, rolled over, and gone back to sleep. He would have given Raylan a bottle of bourbon and a smile and tell him bein' an orphan ain't all bad.

The benefits included winning arguments you'd have never won, and also, not looking over your shoulder for the person who _made_ you to come _un_ make you.

But it wasn't Arlo, it was Helen, and Tim remembered his mother, and had loved her like a little boy does love his angel mama. So he got up, and he got showered shaved and dressed, and he drove down to Harlan.

Raylan was a good ways back from the people at the funeral grieving her, as separate and together with Harlan in his sorrow as he was in everything else. Tim could understand that, the way the past just got knotted up in who you were, even when you weren’t the person you’d been, then.

He skirted the little knot of people and went to Raylan.

 _I'm sorry for your loss_ wasn't something you said about a person who went down to the grave fighting.

She hadn't got lost. She'd been stolen.

He licked his lips and considered what he'd say to another ranger's child. She hadn't died a hero, no, but Raylan's hero... maybe. At least, she'd lived that way.

"What're you doin' here?" Raylan asked, his voice worn and eyes red.

"Paying respect where it's due," Tim replied.

"Helen?"

"You. And her. And what she was to you."

Raylan tilted his head as if he were trying to see what else Tim meant, what he was hiding, but he didn't have the energy. "Well, thank you, I suppose."

"I ain't gonna ask if there's anything I can do. I know the one thing I _could_ do is also the one thing-"

"That you can't, yeah, but sometimes it really is the thought that counts. You know what? I think I'm going to enjoy that thought a little." Raylan cracked a smile, small and brittle but darkly joyous.

Tim smiled back. "It is a nice thought."

*  
When it was Arlo who had died, Tim bought the bourbon and took it to Raylan.

His knuckles were barked up, and Tim considered commenting, but decided against it. He'd heard about Mosley's face.

"Thought I'd be happier," Raylan said.

"Oh, it don't make you happy," Tim said, "Nothing about him ever will. Matter of fact, you might even come to miss his meanness. It was spurs and a whip to keep me goin'." He poured Raylan another glass and pushed the bag of chicken towards him.

"Didn't think it'd... well. It hurts."

"Does. Mostly when people say they're sorry and you don't know why?"

"Winona was all over on that. Tryin' to get me to talk about how I feel or be sad and I just... ain't. Mostly I'm tired. And pissed. He was a mean son of a bitch. But, he was my father."

"For whatever the fuck that's worth," Tim said, picking at the fries. He wasn't much hungry.

"I've decided, I'm gon' bury him," Raylan grinned, "In a goddamn tarp. Just wrap him up and dump him down th'hole. The rest of the insurance that's supposed to buy flowers and casket and shit is goin' to..." he squinted, and then grinned, "Women's shelter. In his name."

"I like it," Tim said, "Little petty, but..."

"Satisfying though." Raylan leaned his head back, closing his eyes, "And better'n nothing."

"Let me know if you need help, getting the hole deep enough."

"I mined coal," Raylan said, his voice as distant as Harlan, "I think I can dig six feet."

"But sometimes it's nice to have help, digging it," Tim shrugged.


End file.
